Trophies
by jibber59
Summary: An evening with friends leads to shared memories, a few disclosures, and a reminder of what it means to feel a part of something good. One shot story ATF universe. A bit of bad language, but mostly just a lot of friendship.


The game was winding down for the night. There hadn't been the usual level of enthusiasm for it in the first place, given the week they'd had. It wasn't that it was a bad week, just a long one. The job had been simple enough, and tidy for a change. But they'd all been more or less on their own, working different angles, covering surveillance and so on. It felt wrong to be divided that way, and now that is was over the need to simply be together outweighed the actual importance of the nature of any activity they might be doing.

None of them had felt like driving out to Chris's place. It seemed too far, too long a wait for the gathering. It wasn't really, but somehow created that illusion. Vin's apartment barely had room for him on his own. The seven of them would have resembled a rather cranky can of sardines. Nathan offered his apologies when he let them know Rain had laid claim to their townhouse for the night. A class she was involved in was meeting there for the evening. Josiah likewise offered apologies, even though they knew that wasn't an option. Ever since the building he had been had been demolished in favour of a parking lot, Josiah had taken up residence in the rectory of the church he volunteered at. The temporary arrangement in its third month, but since he offered late night counselling services, no one seemed to be objecting. Any consideration of going to the apartment shared by JD and Buck was dismissed before in was even offered. More often than not it resembled a frat house dorm room, without the benefit of a cleaning lady. Calling it messy was a compliment. Ezra far preferred more descriptive expressions, including, but not limited to muddled, chaotic, and his personal favorite - shambolic.

So, Ezra had offered his apartment. It was the only logical choice. Although sparsely furnished, he had made sure there was a table now that would accommodate the occasional evening of gaming. He'd also found a decent and surprisingly affordable caterer who could supply refreshments on short notice, as had been required tonight. As always, his liquor cabinet was well stocked, although Buck had been considerate, or concerned, enough to stop for a case of domestic beer on the way over.

Conversation had been relaxed with frequent periods when nothing beyond bids and raises were heard. It was the nature of time spent with good friends. Proximity was of far more importance than mindless chatter. Not that there wasn't a fair amount of that going on as well. Buck regaled them with suggestive tales of his recent dating adventures. As the evening progressed, selected tidbits became more intriguing, but his repeated refusal to go into specifics, on the basis 'a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell' convinced JD the stories were pure fiction. "Let's face it Buck - that's a lousy excuse, 'cause you ain't no gentleman!"

Chris filled them in on a couple of mares he was thinking about adding to his stable, asking for input from everyone. Vin and Buck were the experienced team members on something like this, but they were all familiar enough with horses to be able to offer comments. Talk inevitably turned to tales of past mounts they had owned or had the privilege of riding. Nathan and JD were newer to the saddle but listened with rapt attention to stories of Buck's misadventures while breaking in new steeds (occasionally breaking a few bones in the process) and been enthralled by some of Chris trail adventures from his younger years. They had all scoffed at Ezra when he insisted he had broken his share of broncs over the years. "Forgive me Son, but I have a hard time picturing you doing the 8 second ride."

"I did not claim to ride bulls Josiah. I said I busted broncs, to use the vernacular. Had a respectable record as well."

"Of course, you did Ezra." Buck smirked. "Bet you never scored under 95."

"As that would be world record status, I cannot make that claim. I did get into the 90's on more than one occasion however."

Vin looked at him critically. "You seem to know more than a little on the subject."

"I have knowledge on many subjects Vin. It pays to be prepared for any eventuality."

The banter continued periodically as the evening progressed. Nathan became the butt of the jokes when he innocently informed them the activity going on at his house tonight was Rain's self defense classes. "Careful there Pard. She's gonna be able to whoop your ass before you know it." Vin teased.

"Hell, she probably already can." JD added.

"That may be a problem for you guys and your assorted, and possibly imaginary lady friends, but Rain has nothing but the deepest affection for me." Nathan joked back.

"Still, she's gonna use you to practice on, and we're going to end up with you on the disabled list." Chris hoped his joke wasn't a forecast. He had the distinct impression that Rain was stronger than she looked.

"What is the nature of her interest Nathan? Judo? Boxing? Krav Maga? Jeet Kune Do"

"Let me guess Ezra – you have knowledge on those subjects as well." Buck grumbled, growing a bit exasperated by the unending expertise.

"We all do, assuming of course you have taken and passed the mandatory training the Agency offers."

"That covers the basics Ezra - not this Krav Maga or Gee Can Do."

" Jeet Kune Do, JD" Ezra corrected gently. "It is an excellent overall approach to the martial arts. Wing Chun would be more appropriate for Buck I think, as it is primarily a solid straight punching skill. Krav Maga is more pragmatic, and an excellent combination of the best of all arts."

"Jeez Ezra - you memorize a book on the subject or something?" Buck stared at him. "Maybe a nice thick book that you could hit someone with?"

"As I said – it pays to be prepared."

Nathan shook his head in wonderment and confusion. "Far as I know, she's just learning how to hit hard, yell loud and run like hell. Seems to enjoy it though."

Conversation waned on that subject as well and a few more hands were played out in relative silence. When Chris folded with a sad pair of threes, he announced he was done for the night. The others agreed to follow after the hand played out. Not surprisingly, Ezra claimed the final pot of the night. He hadn't claimed them all, and upon reflection, he determined it hadn't been his best night - financially. But being able to converse with these men, to tease, cajole and generally just fraternize was far more important. That fact never failed to surprise him, just a little.

They all pitched in to start tidying. Ezra had been about to tell them not to bother when Vin reached across the table to pick up a plate and knocked a half full beer glass over. "Shit. Sorry about that Ezra." JD scurried to the kitchen for paper towels but found the roll almost empty.

"He should have some in the hall cupboard there JD - grab them." Buck instructed. JD darted over and reached to open the door.

Ezra looked up and had a flash of dismay cross his face. "NO JD, not there!" JD pulled the door open before the words registered. He froze, thinking he had done something horrific. An instant later his jaw dropped in shock.

"What the hell is all of this?" He pulled the door back completely, exposing the contents for all to see. Half the shelves were lined boxes of framed certificates, trophy's and plaques. Labels marked them by activity.

They all turned and looked at Ezra. If pressed, they would have trouble figuring out if they were more surprised by the existence of the items, that they were hidden, or the fact their discovery was embarrassing Ezra to the point his face damn near matched the colour of his favorite jacket.

"They are nothing. History. Of no consequence. Excuse me, I am going to get the towels you were looking for." He darted from the room. JD began pulling boxes out. "Guys, look at this."

"Uh, JD - you think maybe he had them stashed away for a reason?"

"Well yeah. Look around. Nowhere to put them out here, so they had to go somewhere." He pulled at another box. "Damn, these are rodeo trophies. Look at the certificates Buck. He wasn't bullshitting you about the scores - high 80's. Look - here's a couple in the 90's!"

"Damn! He was right. That is world class riding."

Despite knowing they were intruding on his privacy, the others were drawn in as well. "Tennis one's aren't quite as high ranking." Nathan noted. Josiah pulled out another framed document from the box. "Yeah - but check this. He competed at the US open. Junior pairs, and eliminated early - but damn. The US Open!"

"You don't suppose they're from jobs he did for the FBI - do you?"

Chris doubted it. "Junior pairs, he would have been too young. Besides, these are all in his own name Nathan."

"These ones are mixed martial arts Chris." Vin's voice had a hint of awe to it. "Ranked top competitive. How much to you want to bet he's got a black belt in here somewhere?"

"Don't take him up on that Mr. Larabee - you would lose." Ezra's tone cooled them all down quickly, as did the formality of address. They all gave him sheepishly apologetic looks.

JD took a step forward, forcing himself to look Ezra in the eye. "I'm sorry Ezra. Didn't mean to snoop. I had no idea - I was just looking for towels."

"I suppose you didn't mean to pull the boxes out and start pawing through them like wild animals searching for scraps." He walked angrily over to the spill that had started this new mess and threw towels on it, no longer really caring about the problem.

"Now hold up -" Buck began, but Chris cut him off.

"You're right. We overstepped. Big time. No excuse."

Vin shook his head. "One excuse. Shock."

JD had to ask. "This all for real Ezra? I mean - it looks real, but you never said anything."

"What would you have me say? 'Hey, look at me'?" He pushed through them, tossing items back into whichever box was closest and trying to shove them back out of sight.

"You ain't usually shy about your accomplishments." Buck offered. "You were going on about all sorts of stuff tonight.

"Sharing stories and advice is not in the same category as boasting of one's successes, limited though they may be."

Josiah looked at him and read more into that. "Funny, you don't have the same problem pointing out your past failings to us on a fairly regular basis." Ezra didn't answer.

"This collection doesn't exactly seem to be limited either." Chris added.

Nathan lifted one of the frames before Ezra could get to it. "What was it like to play at the US Open? It had to be amazing – right?"

"There is no need to try to placate me Mr. Jackson."

"Well, since you **are** calling us all mister - I'm guessing you're pissed off. And even if not - I'd really like to know what it was like."

Ezra took a deep breath and leaned tiredly against the door frame. The contrition he saw on the six faces watching him was genuine, he was certain of that. And he had no doubt the curiosity was as well. Not just about what was in those boxes, but about why they were stored there. No, hidden there. He had wondered the same thing himself.

Not why they were hidden. The motivation was no mystery to him. What he had never been able to figure out was why he kept them in the first place. They had long ago served their purpose. Props in scams he had run, tools for getting into places or situations where such paraphernalia held value. He couldn't count the number of times he had packed them for garbage, only to slide them back into whatever dark cubbyhole was available at the time. For some reason, they represented a connection he was unwilling to severe.

He sighed again and turned to place the document in his hand onto a shelf. Before turning back, he reached to a higher one and retrieved a photo album. Without speaking, he handed it over to JD. The young man hesitated about opening it until he got a nod from Chris.

Photos and news clippings lined the pages. He thumbed through them slowly, eyes widening with each new revelation. He looked to Ezra, his eyes asking the question he couldn't voice.

"You speculated as to whether or not they were genuine. Wondered, understandably, if this was all part of an operation, or a scam. Well, the answer to both is yes." Ezra had made his way back to the table and was absentmindedly wiping up the spilled beer. "They were not from my FBI days, or any similar legitimate venture."

"You don't have to tell us anything Ezra." Chris declared quietly, his look defying any of the others to contradict him.

"The tennis trophies were genuine. A tennis racquet was an easy item to travel with, and most communities had a public access court. I will concede the opportunity to tread on the courts in Flushing Meadows was as much mother's doing as it was my ability. Actually, far more her doing. I am certain my partner was blackmailed into teaming with me. All part of an effort to get behind the scenes. I was still young and comparatively naïve enough to be too enchanted by the experience to give much consideration to her actions or intentions. It was fortunate that there was no requirement for me to do anything more than first round play."

Josiah looked up from the clipping he was reading. "6-4, 4-6, 6-4. That's a respectable showing Ezra. Article sings your praises as well. 'Up and comer', 'junior player to watch'. Seems impressive to me."

"Smoke and mirrors – Josiah. Nothing more." The was a hint of sadness to the comment. "It was the last time I played."

He glanced at the collection again, his eyes pausing on a statuette of a rider on a bucking horse. "The rodeo trophies are also valid. From a much younger day when I could handle the hard landings with more ease."

"Impressive collection." Buck wasn't happy to notice he had a tinge of jealousy in his voice and tried to make amends for it. "But having watched you handle Chaucer, can't say I'm too surprised."

"Chaucer is nothing like these spirited beasts."

Buck laughed, shaking his head as he thought back on times the others had tried to handle the horse. "Wanna bet?"

"That why you gave it up? Hard landings?" Having been tossed a few times, JD could understand the decision.

"In part, along with pressing concerns in other directions. There was also a growing disenchantment with the rodeo world. While many are legitimate operations which focus concern and consideration on the four-legged stars of the attraction, others treat the animals in appalling fashion. I chose not to be a party to any of that." Given his evident, although often denied, soft spot for animals, that reason came as no surprise to any of them.

"What aren't you saying here Ezra?" Chris could read the reticence in his friend. Something was missing from the disclosures. He knew he was right when he got a sly grin in response. Avoidance was one of Ezra's best skills.

"You tell me. What am I holding back? How am I, yet again, being less than forthright."

Damn. Turning himself into the guilty party was another skill he excelled at.

"You know that's not what he meant Ezra." Nathan interjected.

"No, I'm sure he didn't. Gentlemen, the evidence is in front of you. Please, have at it."

With a degree of reluctance, once again feeling they were prying far too deeply into personal matters, they began looking through the items before them. There was some trading off of albums and articles, but few words spoken. Finally, tiring of the game, Chris looked up. "OK, we surrender."

Ezra gave half a smile. "How unlike you."

Buck stared. "I can't see anything out of the ordinary here. What are we missing?"

"That is rather the point. It is all far too ordinary. I defy you to find anything in that parody of achievement that is familiar to you."

"We've all heard of the US Open Ezra."

"And that deception has already been explained and dismissed. Look at the remaining titles. The fraudulent and humiliating collection of what passes for success in my life." His face remained passive, but the venom in his voice was startling to them.

"Nothing fraudulent about these Ezra. They may not have been world titles, but they were titles nevertheless." Vin didn't think for a moment that was going to convince his friend to lighten up on himself. "Titles you earned."

"They were nothing. Small town events, regional at best. The competition was rarely of note. Events I took part in to accumulate this collection of accolades for the sole purpose of using them to further my less than honourable intentions. To build up my image in the eyes of others."

Josiah was beginning to understand. "Doesn't seemed to have worked out to well for you, has it. I mean, look at these things. Boxed up and locked away from sight. None of them show any sign of fading or exposure to the real world. Kind of hard to show off when no one gets to see them."

Ezra didn't answer, turning away and going back to cleaning up the spill that had long since been taken care of.

"You know you don't need crap like this to prove anything to us, don't you?"

There was something in JD's tone that Ezra could never bring himself to ignore.

"You six are the last people I ever would have wanted to see any of this. I should have disposed of it years ago."

"Why didn't you?" Chris was pretty sure he knew but wanted to hear it anyway.

"Vanity."

"Bullshit. Want to try that again?"

Ezra looked toward Chris but would not meet his gaze. "You could not be foolish enough to ascribe some more noble explanation?"

"I think you want them as some kind of reminder. Where you came from. How far you've come."

"Why would I need such mementos for that purpose, when I have you gentlemen constantly trying to reassure me of that advancement to my character."

Vin figured he knew the answer to that one. "Because you can't quite bring yourself to believe that. Maybe you do when we are around, but here, alone at home, I'd guess the doubt creeps back sometimes, don't it?"

The silence was all the answer that was needed. JD stepped forward to speak, but Buck quietly laid a hand on his arm, restraining him. The men looked at each other, knowing there was nothing they could say that Ezra hadn't heard before and dismissed in his own mind. Even after all this time, all the moments that he had proven himself, the long-embedded influences of his youth still held far too tight a grip on him. The team started gathering up the trophies and boxes, putting things where they had been found.

"Please, don't bother gentlemen. It has been a long week, and a good night, up until the last few minutes. Go home. I can finish this."

JD continued sorting things into place. "I made the mess, I'll clean it up."

"Enjoy that offer Ezra – it's more than I ever hear out of him at our place." Buck grinned.

"Like your mess isn't worse!" Ezra smiled at the obvious efforts to lighten the mood and went back to the original tiding of the games table. He could hear the shuffling as the work went on, but there was no real conversation. "Don't bother putting them back in the closet. I shall take them to the trash in the morning."

"You sure you're ready to do that?" Josiah didn't think there was much conviction in the tone of the comment. "You need to toss this because you're ready to, not because we found them."

"I have needed to do that for some time now. This has merely served to provide a modicum of overdue added incentive to the plan."

Chris hefted one of the boxes. "No time like the present, if you're serious."

Ezra hesitated for the briefest of moments before nodding his head. "I suppose it would behoove me to take advantage of the free labour."

"You sure you don't want any of this?" Nathan was looking over some of the notices. "May not have been world rankings, but it represents a lot of decent accomplishments you should be proud of. Maybe hold onto the scrapbooks and such."

Vin agreed. "No need to jump in with both feet Ezra. I can understand the trophies going. That kind of show doesn't fit you. But the rest…?"

They didn't want him to go all out before he was truly convinced, and he had to admit to himself he was regretting the suggestion of tossing it all the moment he made it. Perhaps this was the solution. Baby steps, as it were.

He nodded slightly, lifting a smaller box and setting it near the door. "An excellent observation and solution. Perhaps just the trophies and plaques as a starting point. The ephemera can remain for the moment."

"Ephem – what?" JD looked at him.

"Papers JD. Clippings, programs and the like. I shall save that for another day."

Buck glanced around the room, hoping to ensure they had retrieved everything so that Ezra would have no reminders in the morning to make him regret the action. That was when he spied the small trophy sitting on the end of the bar. How something had ended up on the far side of the room was a mystery, but he took the few steps needed to retrieve it. Just before he grabbed for it, Ezra reached out to block him.

"No. That stays."

"Thought this was a clean sweep Son." Josiah knew all would take was one keepsake to send Ezra into his world of self doubt again.

"Ah, but this one is different. This one didn't come from that collection."

Not surprisingly, that brought full focus of the room to the small award that sat next to the liquor collection.

"Ezra," JD asked in wonder, "is that what I think it is?" He was the first to recognize the cheap toy statue of a baseball on a pedestal, as he had been the one to buy it at the dollar store months earlier.

"That's from that stupid inter-agency ball tournament?" Chris couldn't believe Ezra would have held onto the trinket.

It has all been someone's idea of improving relationship between federal law agencies in the area. No one was quite sure what genius thought it would be a good idea to take a bunch of agents from rival forces who didn't get along all that well at the best of times and put them into an even more competitive situation. Almost every game leading up to the final had ended in shoving matches, with the lead volunteer umpire eventually walking out on the final game – the one between the ATF team and the FBI. Ezra had sat out the match, blaming a bad shoulder rather than admitting he didn't feel he could handle being on field with that group. When they were left with no home plate umpire, the organizers had come up with the brilliant solution of putting him behind the plate. Over the strenuous objections of the FBI, Ezra finally caved into the order, subtly disguised as a request.

It went better than expected with no more than the usual amount of frenetic debate on calls. Josiah, as catcher, had heard some of the comments made at or about Ezra, and was watching his friend closely for reactions, and keeping Chris informed on the issue. Since Ezra seemed to be taking it all in stride, it was decided the rest of the team would ignore it as well, knowing anything they said would only worsen the problem. It was a great theory, and actually worked until the inevitable moment in the bottom of the ninth inning. Down by a run and with one man on third, Gibson, the Bureau's best hitter and a decent runner, came up to the plate. He glared at Ezra, saying nothing but muttering under his breath nevertheless. Ezra chose to ignore it, knowing there were only a few minutes left of this ordeal.

Buck pitched one obviously outside the zone for a ball, and then two pitches that were swung on and missed. One more and the day was done. Another pitch, a swing, and contact with the ball. It sailed over his head, past Vin at second and deep into the outfield. JD ran for it, but it dropped just out of his reach. The Bureau agent on third ran home, making the game tied. JD kept running, charging after the rolling ball, finally scooping it and turning to throw to third, hoping to stop the advancing hitter. Unfortunately the throw was short of Nathan's grasp, and bounced between the bases, taking an awkward turn into left field. Chris had run in from his position overrunning the ball and turning back to grab it before tossing it to Josiah behind the plate. Gibson slid into home as the ball arrived. All eyes went to Ezra to make the call.

Ezra had been watching the action play out, knowing in his soul how this was going to end. His brief prayer that it would be an obvious call was clearly being ignored by the gods of baseball, and in the split second he had to make his decision, he could see the entire park moving in slow motion. His team stared at him in anticipation. Buck was almost celebrating already, the grin spreading on his face. In contrast, the manager for the FBI team had a resigned look of disgust on his face from the moment his runner rounded third. He knew how this would end, and was ready to raise holy hell, for all the good it would do. Just wait until the next time ATF wanted any co-operation from them.

Ezra brought his attention back to the plate and watched the ball and runner arrive almost simultaneously. Gibson jumped up immediately, already moving in to start yelling when he was silenced by the call.

"Safe!"

"What?" Buck stormed forward, and Josiah moved quickly to stop him.

"Call is made Buck. Game is over."

Chris was close enough to see Ezra's face now. To see just how miserable the man felt. He turned on the rest of the team moving to the plate and stopped them with a glare.

Gibson's voice could be heard in the unexpected quiet of the field. "You sure on that call?" He couldn't quite believe it, and was ready to admit, if only to himself, that he wasn't entirely certain is was correct.

"I believe the expression is 'I call them as I see them'. You arrived in advance of the throw, which makes you safe. Congratulations." He turned to leave the field, knowing his team would want little to do with him right now, and having no desire to get stuck in the middle of the impending FBI celebration. Gibson grabbed his arm, spinning him back and the ATF team moved closer, not able to guess what might be about to happen, but not ready to take any chances. Gibson put his hand out, taking Ezra's and shaking it soundly. "Good game Standish. We might call on you to umpire again next year."

It took all of his training to keep any reaction from his face. "No, thank you. I think my sporting days are done." He left the field and was driving away by the time the rest of the men had gotten past the shock and run after him. He avoided any phone calls on Sunday but resigned himself to the fact he would have to face the consequences when he returned to the office.

It was quiet when he arrived. Everyone was already in, as was usual, and Ezra said nothing as he made his way to his spot in the corner. He hung up his jacket and turned, freezing at the sight. Sitting squarely in the centre of his desk was a small plastic gold painted baseball sitting on a cheap balsa wood base. It was quite possibly the tackiest thing he had ever seen. With no small amount of trepidation, he picked it up to look at the glued-on plaque, his mind running through the possible list of sarcastic remarks that he would read. "Most Valuable Player."

He stared for a good 30 seconds before turning. They were all grinning at him in a manner that was most unsettling. "I didn't play, and my call cost you the game – the tournament."

"Was it the right call?" Chris asked.

Ezra nodded.

"You do know that simple action earned us more good will and more trust than the last half-dozen cases we've worked has been able to do?" Josiah explained.

Chris confirmed that. "Travis even called yesterday to find out what happened. Deputy director from the bureau called him to suggest we do the tournament again next year."

"Oh, dear Lord, please no."

"Relax Ezra, we'll make sure you're on assignment. Speaking of which, we have a case gentlemen."

The game was never mentioned again, and Chris had assumed Ezra would have long since tossed out the cheap token.

"You kept that? And have it out here on display?"

"I look at it daily." Ezra acknowledged. He waved his hand toward the boxes. "Those are ancient history, and represent nothing that I take any pleasure in. This," he picked it up almost reverently, "is the most important trophy I have ever won."

Buck shook his head. "Said it before and I'll say it again, you are one seriously interesting man Ezra."

Chris couldn't have agreed more. "OK, lets get this stuff cleared out and call it a night." A few minutes later the apartment was quiet again as Ezra watched from his balcony as the cars pulled out. He raised his almost empty scotch glass to them in silent salute before he walked back in, sliding the door behind him. Taking the few short steps needed he reached to set his glass on the bar, stopping long enough only to tip it gently against the trophy that had reclaimed its spot. "Here's to you all." He set down the glass, turned off the light and headed to bed with a smile on his face.

M7-M7-M7-M7-M7-M7-M7


End file.
